Unkiss Me
by kayellin
Summary: Inspired by Maroon 5's "Unkiss Me": Bellamy and Clarke share a kiss on his "death bed" only in time for Octavia to come back with the cure. Set two days after Jaha pardoned Bellamy's life... What happens when their own pride gets in the way? What consequences will they have to face for their choices? Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Under the impression that the semi-artistic gray walls in the Skybox previously housed all my fears and sobs would also hold the longest night of my life, I pushed on vehemently. It wasn't until the clammy sweat broke across his forehead and the blood soaked rags filled the upper level of the drop ship that I realized _this _was actually the longest night of my entire life. Before, I believed it to be the night my father was floated and I was arrested for treason, the first night without the comfort of my own bed or a parent to try to console my grief…

His throaty groan caused me to focus once more on _him_. The thin scratches that ran down his arms were illuminated under the small artificial light and the sweat that covered his skin glistened. I compared my pale hand to his tan skin as I pushed him back down to a flat position. "You need your rest." My tone was serious but I could tell he was ignoring everything I told him by the flicker in his brown eyes. "Your stitches will tear if you move."

"Face it, princess." It was the weakest I'd ever heard him sound and it scared me. We'd fought for everything down here and it sounded like he was giving up—he was giving up. "I'm dying. I've been poisoned and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Octavia—"

"Octavia won't make it back in time." Bellamy said with a dismissive hand, "It's over. If I wasn't laying on my death bed right now, I might kill you for sending her out there alone." He choked, something rising from his chest to his palm as he jerked his body forward. He looked down at his hand and tightened his fist before I could see it but the crimson stain on his lips told me what he was hiding.

"Lincoln—"

"Oh, so it's Lincoln now?"

"Will you let me say more than one word?" I asked, annoyed not because he was talking too much—I figured as long as he was talking, he was _alive—_but because there wasn't anything I could do for him. I'd stitched up the cut across his back with sublime evenness, although I guess my own personal accomplishments weren't important. "You aren't allowed to die."

"You don't tell me what to do." He was all the more stubborn while he was slowly decaying from his normally cheeky and overconfident self. "Just to prove that—I'm going to die so when people ask, tell them it was because you told me not to and I had to be true to thy self until the end. They'll laugh about it…but you probably shouldn't lead with that joke. They might not appreciate it at first."

I watched his face rise and fall as he accepted and declined his looming death, "You're nattering." I commented, willing him to change the subject. I wasn't in the mood to deal with his unwelcomed jokes and remarks. Who decides to develop a sense of humor when they're dying?

"Standardized test word of the week, everyone…" Bellamy mumbled, wincing while he straightened up to talk to me as an equal rather than a dying man hunched over before the person he competed with daily. "I've got one for you—mawkish. You, princess, are being extremely mawkish."

"I'm not being sentimental." I said, "You're the one writing your own funeral jokes—I didn't even know you could be funny. I barely know you…" He went into another coughing fit and I gripped his shoulder to keep him balanced out of shear habit. My heart jumped with each guttural sound that broke free from his tight lips. He ejected a hard pant when his coughing ceased.

"You have to take care of her, Clarke." I could barely handle his weak whisper. The sound of it was too final and I knew if he felt like he was going to recover, he would disguise it with one of his rough, deep tones. "Promise me you'll take care of Octavia?"

Bellamy _couldn't _die. There were so many things that I needed him for and there were so many people that wouldn't follow me. Bellamy was their _voice. _He probably didn't contain all of the knowledge in the world but he was smart and he was the one I _needed _to keep the entire camp alive. No one could shoot like him—no one could get things done like him. I'd said the same things to the Chancellor before Bellamy's life was pardoned although I didn't go into detail. I couldn't name another person that could help me run the camp successfully in the way Bellamy had.

"No need in crying, princess…" He said softly and I shook my head back and forth, biting my lip hard. If he saw me cry, he would r_eally _give up. I needed him to fight it. I needed him to be as stubborn as ever about living.

I wiped a stray droplet from my cheek and said, "I need you, Bellamy."

"You don't need anyone, Clarke. You've made that obvious."

"That's not true and you know it." I argued, "I've always recognized when I need someone, and dammit I need you to stay alive. Have you forgotten that already?"

"It's not like I have much of a choice." He said, "It's not like I want to die, Clarke. There wasn't a fucking death option when everyone got on that ship—"

"No one had the option to get on the ship."

"I _did._" He said, "I had a choice and I made it. This is the consequence of my choice." I placed my thumb on the corner of his mouth, smearing the blood away from his lip. "For two days I was a free man, you know? I wasn't carrying someone's secret, I wasn't mopping floors for my own, and I wasn't sentenced to death for my actions."

It felt longer than two days…

He placed a hand over my own before I pulled away from him. His fingers rubbed across the top of his hand while his ailing thumb pressed into my palm. He managed a smirk, "Ignorant to believe I had more time…right? Could have lived every day like it was my last instead of making sure it wasn't. Should have seen the spear coming for me…"

For a second, all I saw was the color orange as my eyes closed tightly against the gleam of light shining on us. I felt his fingers digging in my scalp and trailing down my head to the end pieces of my hair. I felt our breath mingling heatedly with my own as we said our own twisted version of goodbye. I'd never considered having feelings for Bellamy until all I could feel was Bellamy.

We broke at the sound of someone climbing up the ladder and I found myself hurriedly standing up and walking away from him. "I got it." Octavia said, "Not going to die today, jackass."


	2. Chapter 2

"_If you respect me, don't protect me. _

_You can tell me, I can handle it. _

_Stop pretending, because we're going down."_

Chapter 2:

Wells once informed me the facial expression I used when I was equally pissed off, annoyed and determined was coined my '_bitch face'. _I imagine it's a face that Bellamy sees quite often but today it was used for a different reason—a personal reason—that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with the tinge of pain in my chest. I was not expecting to walk in on wrestling bodies wrapped up in pseudo-passion, but I had. I cleared my throat heavily, breaking up the scene before me. My head moved towards the flap as I indicated the girl needed to leave. She glared at me and I only glared back with my _bitch face. _

The half-naked girl climbed out of Bellamy's bed, grabbing a shirt and dashing out as I opened my mouth slightly to think about what I wanted to say. Did I want to scream? Did I want to yell? Did I want to make a scene out of this? I didn't have claims to Bellamy but I assumed that his near-death experience caused us to cross a bridge—clearly, the bridge broke midway and there were no survivors. It was odd how my mouth turned up into a half-smile as if the situation amused me somehow. I wasn't happy yet I was looking at him like a fool, an angry laugh slipping through my lips.

"Did you need something from me, princess?" I focused on his bare chest and the way he breathed but not noticeably. I wasn't arrogant, he was charming—I did kiss him, didn't I? There were levels of attraction for him mostly concerning his strong figure and roughly handsome looks. There was something about the way he nonchalantly leaned forward as he waited for me to address him, something about the way he was looking at me—waiting for a response other than a smile. Did he want me to make a scene?

I shook my head but the smile and laugh remained. I was not going to give into his childish antics. If Bellamy wanted to fuck meaningless people, he could fuck meaningless people. Although, I wouldn't use the word meaningless if I wasn't a tad jealous that he'd rendered me meaningless—at least, that's how I felt. "Not a damn thing from _you _but I thought you should know we are leaving."

"Who is we?" His eyebrows furrowed as he asked the question trying to recall a conversation we had a week ago.

"Finn and myself." I informed him, "Since you wanted to be a dick about searching for bunkers with supplies in them last week I decided to recruit him."

"You're really going to take spacewalker? The anti-gun freak?"

"Yes." I rolled my eyes before stepping out of his tent. The smile quickly faded from my face as I bolted for the drop ship to gather my things and wait for Finn to return with his own. I was a fool—still a fool because I could feel the weight of his actions weighing on my chest like someone was pressing a knee into my skin. I heard my own quiet sniffle and immediately tried to restore myself to the person I was four days ago—the person that would never kiss Bellamy Blake even on his death bed. The miracle cure saved his life and after that…

I couldn't think straight, I needed to gather my thoughts.

Personally, at the time, I thought he needed to gather his thoughts too. Obviously the only thing he needed to gather were his clothes off the ground after he fucked some body he would barely talk to again.

More than anything, I felt shock—not for Bellamy being _Bellamy _but for temporarily not being the person I had to be for the audacious teenagers around me. Who did I think I was? Kissing people I had to work with every single day like it _really _mattered who I cared for—relationships are weakness. My only job was to make sure people survived down here and I was screwing it up in hopes of what—being screwed? Being screwed over? Because face it, Bellamy Blake is and always will be "that guy" and he will _never _commit to a single person.

And I'm under the impression that I deserve someone that can commit to me and be honest with _me. _The fact of the matter is, though, there aren't many people to choose from. I've almost faced every person on the ground and I've yet to meet someone that sends electricity up my bones—the closest thing I've had to electricity is _fire. _As in, Bellamy makes me want to catch myself on _fire. _

There was Finn, sure—but that was recklessness…that was the first time without rules and the first time where I wasn't fated to marry my best friend. The first time when nothing was _really _expected of me except survival.

"You ready, princess?" Finn's voice broke through my train of thought and I wiped at my face and turned around with a scowl.

"Don't call me princess." I told him, "I'm no one's princess."

We stepped out of the gate and I directed a nod towards Miller who returned it sternly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

My heart no longer ached at the sight of Finn—it no longer felt as raw as rug burn and the misery I once relished in because of him had faded into irrelevant background noise. That being said, I would much rather be stabbed in the chest with a spear than deal with his excessive out-loud thinking and sideways glances. "You know what happens in the forest, stays in the forest." Finn started, "So I'm just going to say it. I want to be with you, Clarke."

"It probably stays in the forest as long as your girlfriend doesn't fall from the sky. At that point, abort mission. Do not proceed." I said bitterly, "I thought we were over this."

He was still limping from his injury and I knew that I shouldn't have brought him but I had an annoying personality trait that weighed options on a scale. I could patch Finn up again, my people could not survive the winter without sufficient supplies. Nearly 100 people vs. discomfort. The people won. I sighed when he opened his mouth to speak again, "You're over it." He grinned bitterly at his own words.

"Same thing. It's done." My lips tightened with irritation as he extended a hand out to me. I shook my head, "It's done." I repeated, "Don't try to go straight at a dead end, Finn. There's nothing there."

He released a breath, his grin fading. "I've done harm to us, I know that. I should have told you about Raven but—"

"There isn't a _but, _there's progression onto different things." Tugging my jacket around my body more comfortably, I attempted to form a proper speech explaining how he had to get over me and how he had to do it without much complaining—I wanted to be honest…wanted to tell him that he didn't need a girl like me in his heart. Raven would love him for the rest of their lives and it was idiotic for him to think I could do the same. The truth would only make Finn determined to fight for me. I could try to hurt him, I could prematurely tell him I had feelings for someone else but there wasn't a need for the drama. I didn't need a testosterone filled witch hunt due to fictional feelings for someone that didn't exist. Instead, I exhaled and said a version of the truth that did not go into detail. "I will never love you the way you want me to love you. One day you will stop seeing the reflection of love from your own eyes in mine and realize there is nothing there. That day will suck but you need to realize it sooner than later that we are never going to happen."

"Here." Finn said after a long time of awkward silence. He kicked the edge of a moss covered metal door that led into the ground. He gripped the partly broken handle and pulled, wincing as he pulled at his stitches. I nudged him out of the way, bending down and using my legs to pull the door. The sound of it opening was covered with Finn clearing his throat. I rolled my eyes at his fractured pride and proceeded down the visible ladder. My feet radiated throughout the small bunker as I stomped heavily on the metal bars holding me up. Finn lowered a flashlight down to me so I could see the last bar and the inside of the underground home.

"We've got clothes." I ran my hands across the synthetic fabrics. I remembered environmentalist articles explaining how the synthetic materials weren't biodegradable and would last for years in landfills that polluted the Earth. Who knew that would ever been a positive thing? I threw the t-shirts, jeans, and other pieces of clothing towards him. It wasn't enough for all of my people but there was a small closet for the women to choose from. The thought of the woman that was supposed to live here hit me. What stopped her?

Was she unprepared for the attack on the area or did she make a bolder decision?

I moved towards the shelves, rummaging through expired "essentials" and the woman's personal mementos. There were old pictures, tearing at the edges—some split in half by faded white lines. There were dusty CDs and unused cords. "We could salvage these." I tossed them to Finn as he folded the clothes for better travel. He nodded and I continued to rifle through everything I could reach easily. My hand came across a maroon colored box with gold markings etched into it. I opened it, expecting decayed jewelry but instead I found a twisted version of beauty.

I was immediately attracted to it and although I was aware of the saying "guns don't kill people, people kill people" I found myself regretting my attraction to the weapon. Its ivory plated handle and floral detail caused my eyes to dilate with appreciation. The trigger was gold plated and was asking to be pulled by my finger. I look deeper into the box and found a piece of paper that read:

_Browning Renaissance _

It was a printed description from an online shopping outlet. I picked it up just to feel how it weighed in my hand. I could tell that it'd never been used before. She probably bought it for the sake of having a gun during war. Guns were supposed to give people peace of mind. I could feel Finn's breath on the back of my neck as he said, "I found boxes beyond boxes of bullets. Whoever this chick was, she was ready for a fight."

"Pack them. We can add this gun to the collection." I said, no really wanting to let it go. I passed it off to Finn who grabbed me by the shoulder as I went to walk away from him.

"A gun for a princess…" He put it back in my hand, "I don't like it but something about you having a weapon other than that dull knife on your ankle would make me feel better—as a friend and as someone who cares about you."

I pressed my lips together and sighed, "Thanks."

"Thank whoever owned this bunker."

I glanced back down at the email and read it:

_Halie Cavanaugh._

She had a strong name—a wealthy name but I hadn't heard that name on the Ark. I closed my eyes, momentarily mourning the loss of someone that died 97 years ago. She probably had a life…not a husband, clearly—she wasn't weak. Relationships made people weak and Halie couldn't have been weak if she could face a nuclear war alone. I slightly wondered if she bought a gun to kill herself if the loneliness overtook her.

"We should take the blankets, the pillows and the clothes along with the bullets. I think these are the same bullets that Bellamy's gun requires and he's a decent shot so I should share."

"Maniac with a gun again—great." Finn mumbled, "We can't carry everything in the bunker."

"I know but we can carry the more important things." I said, pushing the gun in between the top of my jeans and my hip bone before grabbing a stack of folded clothes and throwing them into my bag. Eventually, we found ourselves loaded down with the contents from the bunker as we walked back to camp.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

_Clink, clink, clink…_

Finn drew several more circles into the side of an abandoned car with a dirt and sap mixture. I focused on the last three bullets in the gun while I aimed for the center of the targets. My eyes narrowed as I tuned out the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the background. I could see the dirt underneath my fingernails against the gold plated trigger as I squeezed it.

_Clink._

_Clink._

_Clink._

"Impressive." Finn said after I lowered the weapon and tucked it back against my hip. "Is the fun over?"

"I've wasted enough bullets." I sighed, "Fun is the main reason people get out of control. It's a factor in making mistakes." We continued along the bath towards camp without much conversation. It was pleasant, really. There was a part of me that craved the attention of someone but it was outweighed and the strength of my determination to survive was greater. Our arms were once more heavy with the supplies.

The forest was a beautiful place when it wasn't trying to kill me. The leaves were asking to be drawn and the branches were begging to be shaded on a piece of yellowing paper. My eyes took in a good bit of detail before I heard the sound of multiple people talking, yelling, laughing, and screaming at once. "Home." I said quietly as we walked through the gates to be eyeballed by the people that refused to join us in our journey. I was half-inclined to keep all the supplies for myself and my close friends that had to stay at camp because _without them _we would die. "Put the spare clothes on the top level. We don't need people using them just because. They need to last."

Finn nodded, setting the clothes down on my medical table before climbing the ladder. "Pass them up." I tossed the clothes up to him steadily. The next thing on the list were the blankets and bullets. I listened to Finn discuss the state of his organizing skills for a few minutes as I made a pros and cons chart concerning talking to Bellamy.

I'd avoided the pain in my chest the entire day and I wasn't exactly sure if I should bring it back up. It wasn't like I could dodge Bellamy for the rest of my life but I could evade him for the rest of the night. Although, his wrath was something I didn't want to have to deal with when it came to concealing bullets he _needed. _I let out a shaky breath, "I'm going to brief Bellamy." I grabbed the bag and headed towards the king's tent. I felt the white hair on my arm stand up as I crossed the distance between his tent and the drop ship. What if he was with another girl?

I frowned at the thought but pushed on. I made as much noise as possible before entering his tent, clearing my throat just in case he hadn't heard me. "Back so soon? Thought you and lover boy were going to make a night of it."

His comment was ignored, "I found a gun and I found bullets." I pulled up the hem of my shirt to show him my new best friend. "The bullets seem to be what you need for yours. Halie stocked up on them so there are enough to last a little bit. I can get Raven and Jasper to start looking into reloading and other things."

"Can I see your gun again, princess?" He said cheekily and I showed him once more. "It fits you."

"I think so too."

After that moment, I spent a lot of time thinking we looked at each other just a little too long to be "just friends"—"Just partners" and the thought alone started to eat me alive.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

**Bellamy:**

"…I heard that Finn and Clarke were getting it on…" The rumor alone caused me to turn my head in the direction of the gossiper. It was a girl I may have or may not have slept with. At this rate, their faces were starting to meld together like a fruit cocktail of slutty, sweaty nights. I narrowed my eyes at the thought—nearly because nauseously angry at the image in my head. Finn did not own Clarke…neither did I, but Finn certainly did not _have _her. I realized what a hypocrite I was because Clarke had the right to sleep with whomever she pleased just like I'd been doing since I landed. She had the right to let off a little steam, removing that shirt that seemed to stick to her curves whenever I needed to keep a certain level of focus. I wanted her to remove it for _me_ and I wanted her to remove it while only thinking of _me _not the hopeless romantic type like Finn.

The dick part of me wondered what Finn's reaction would be if he knew the girl of his dreams kissed _me—_for a brief second, she'd wanted _me…_not him. And that gun she tucked underneath her shirt, god it did things for me. My intentions had turned lustful in a short amount of time and in seconds, there was no longer lust but a sense of rage and jealousy. I knew not to but too much of my interests in rumors of teenage girls but I couldn't help myself. It was as if the rumor was directed towards me—to weaken me. I didn't like weakness and I typically converted it to rage.

My eyes targeted her from across the camp but a question rose to my mind concerning our conversation from the night before.

_Who the fuck is Halie?_

I made long strides towards her and my sister. They seemed to be engaged in some type of melodious giggle over a joke I assumed was foolish. "Don't you have things to do?" I directed my question to both of them but my eyes met Clarke's blue orbs. We stood there, sizing each other up before she parted her lips and started to speak.

"Right." Clarke said, "I have supplies to organize from yesterday. I found some wires that might interests Monty although I think Finn stored them in his bag yesterday." She smiled over at Octavia and winked—actually winked at the mention of Finn. I was convinced that the rumor was entirely true at that point. Clarke was sleeping with Finn who was with Raven.

She was someone's mistress.

And she wasn't mine.

How did it feel like she was winning and I was losing? Clarke infuriated me with her persistent plans and lack-of-experience clouded judgments. I should be lucky not to have any type of relations with someone so stubborn—so entitled, although she wasn't as entitled as I previously thought—more self-sacrificing, actually. I should be _winning _by not being with her. And she should be losing because she's in a relationship with a guy who can't let go of his first love and never will. Yet, the smile on her face and the look in her eyes that she was unaffected by our moment _defeated _me.

**Clarke:**

Octavia's joke about Jasper and Monty using the radios to make long-distance confessions of friendship still had me laughing as I walked into Finn and Raven's tent. I asked for the wires and Raven. Raven agreed to come with me with a thin-lipped smile. I couldn't help but smile because I _felt _like I was accomplishing something. If the radio could be fixed with the wires we'd found, we could link to possible survivors. The grounders in this specific area couldn't be the only ones out there, could they? The possibility seemed slim that it was them and us and no one else remained.

Finn didn't even attempt to speak and it felt like he got the hint. He was backing off and there was something both wonderful and final about it. It was another reason to smile. I hadn't smiled in such a long time that it seemed forced but it was actually quite genuine as Raven and I stepped through the drop ship and met with Monty. I passed over the wires and took a seat next to them to monitor the process and help if they needed anything.

Eventually, I was called away to stitch up a small cut on someone's hand and when I returned they were grinning at each other. "We might be able to actually do this." Raven said, "It might take a few days but we're close."

"That's great!" I said, "I'm going to tell Octavia because I informed her earlier on the process and she might want to know."

"Yeah." Raven said, "So she can have radio sex with her grounder boyfriend."

I rolled my eyes and stepped out the drop ship. I was determined to share my good mood with other people. It was easy to find Octavia picking away at leaves because she was ordered to sit by herself away from any of the hard work by her brother. Her head moved upwards to look at me, "Don't talk to me unless you want to get yelled out. I'm apparently grounded."

I snorted, taking a seat by her. "Monty and Raven think they can actually perfect the radio. If we can talk to other survivors, we might be able to reach a certain level of peace with our neighbors."

"No more fighting."

"No more death." I said with a shrug, "Well unless the winter kills us."

"Always the optimist." Octavia said, "I can just imagine—"

"What are you doing?" Our conversation was interrupted by Bellamy, his hand guiding his shirt up to wipe sweat off his forehead as he looked at us. "Octavia—"

"Is seventeen." I said, "I was just discussing the wires I was talking about earlier. You remember the ones I had to get from Finn's tent. Well, Raven—"

Bellamy cut me off like I cut him off, "Go do your job, Clarke, instead of sitting on your ass. Everyone else is killing themselves out here and you're just chattering away."

I opened my mouth to respond but I couldn't think of anything worth the breath. I stood up quickly, moving away from Octavia and her brother. I heard Octavia's angry voice tell him adamantly, "You're a _dick, _you know that?"

"Just stay out of the way." Bellamy responded before I was too far away to hear the beginnings of a fight I was sure wouldn't end just because he wanted it to.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

The flames threatened to lick at our skin as my group of trusted friends and myself sat near the newly ignited camp fire. We were deep in conversation concerning the usual: _surviving_. I felt the small blonde hairs stand up on my forearms when Bellamy swayed over to us, a beautiful thin-lipped expression on his face. His intense terra-cota eyes were causing me to rattle unnaturally and undesirably as he met mine. I felt a fragment of my breath assault my bottom lip as he settled on the ground near his aggravated sister. Octavia's anger faded while Bellamy was on his death bed… that did not mean forgiveness outlined her _very_ taken heart. He seemed to be ignoring her discomfort and occupying his own interests; _me_. My reaction felt primal but it also felt wrong. This—whatever this was and however it was defined—felt entirely _wrong_. For the first time in my perfectionist mentality, I didn't want to be right. I wanted to be as wrong as it felt to look at him with equally hungry and calculating eyes.

His eyes shifted towards a darker emotion when Finn leaned over, tapping my leg to get my attention before he leaned back towards Raven. "We should take another trip soon." I wrapped my head around what he was saying and nodded. Of course we needed to search other bunkers. We'd been slightly successful with each bunker we'd searched and it only seemed logical to proceed cautiously.

"Yeah." I said, not realizing how weak my voice sounded as I thought of Bellamy but looked at Finn. I've probably made eye-contact millions of times—why did one moment, one small moment send her into such an emotional fit? He had to feel it, too—right? The unyielding heave between us was _there _for me. I moved my face in his direction to see if it was there for him too. I couldn't see it—I couldn't even translate the look in his eyes.

"The entitled set out to get more meaningless things for each other." He glared at me as he said it and the shiver going down my spine changed for pleasurable to fearful. The look in his eyes caused me to double-take and open my mouth to ask him why he seemed to have a problem with me. "You've locked away with clothing, you've stored the bullets away after so-called _rationing them _and you've given the other supplies to your friends!" His voice rose with every accusation of unjust behavior.

I closed my mouth with a snap and tightened the skin across my face as I looked at him. "What are you implying?"

"You all sit around the fire claiming to be helping _the people _and you don't give a damn about the people. You care about yourselves. There's a possibility of freezing to death but the princess has her pretty little toy, right? So it's fine. You want to go look for more things that you can hide away—do it. Do whatever the hell you want but don't pretend it's about anyone but yourselves."

"Can I talk to you alone?" Although I formed it as a question, it wasn't really one at all. He stared icily, his shoulders rising as he planned to hammer away at the knife he stuck in my back so easily. "Now!" I told him, standing up from the spot I once found comfort in. He growled as he stood up, following me towards the drop ship. I told the roaming teens to get out before I turned around to face him. "What the hell was that?"

"I was speaking my mind." He shrugged, "Do you have a problem with that?"

"I thought we were over this part. I thought we had an understanding."

"You thought wrong, princess." The anger behind the term had returned. My lips twitched as I registered what he was saying. We are not partners. We are not friends. We have nothing. We will never have anything between us—I would make sure of that. I sucked in air, swallowing it as I thought of our kiss, as the image of what we could of had danced across my mind and caught fire at his words. I stepped back and shifted my eyes to my feet for a second before I met his cold, distant expression. I brought a hand up to my lips, rubbing the spot he once warmed before I brought my hand up and slapped him across the face with as much strength as I could manage.

He wasn't expecting the slap, and I wasn't expecting to bust his lip with the force but it'd happened. "You can take your fucking kiss back." I told him, dissolving our alliance the second my hand hit his face. "I will never trust you again."

"No one's asking you to." He said with wide eyes as he hunched over, his hand on the place I slapped him. His voice was slow and bitter as I walked out of the drop ship. Tears burned in my eyes but I willed them away.

Relationships are weakness.

Bellamy is a weakness.

I can't survive _with _weakness—I can only live if I'm strong.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

**Bellamy:**

Clarke's heavy sigh caused my head to shoot up instinctively—an action I immediately regretted because it made me look foolish. Her arms were crossed over her chest and something died in me as she pushed up her breast. I wondered if she was doing it on purpose or if she was absentmindedly appealing to my impulsive side. Her face glowed a red color as she gawked at me. "I need you." She said, "But you need me, too."

_In more than a few ways…_

She continued to speak, her arms moving across the fabric of her shirt as she became uncomfortable under my silent stare. "So…I apologize for hitting you. It wasn't professional." Her face was directed towards the busy camp. Her friends weren't the only ones that heard my outburst last night, I'd been approached multiple times by people who were ready for a rebellion. Of course, that outcome was unintentional and my claims lacked any sort of fact. People—teenagers—are easily influenced by those who carry authority even if they do not deserve authority.

I did not deserve the authority or the attention I'd put on myself. My words were fueled by passionate jealousy, not the well-being of the camp. If I had the well-being of the camp in mind, I would have kept my mouth shut. I wouldn't have accepted the cure. I would be dead and there wouldn't be a problem. Instead, I locked lips with the most essential person in my life and for the camp only to be jealous of a relationship I didn't have the right to be jealous about.

He touched her. I lost it.

There were repercussions for each of my actions and the one I couldn't face was the one I wanted. There was a path laid ahead—a path with two _real _choices and the path I'd been walking on since our lips met. Those paths were _be with Clarke, don't be with Clarke, and avoid Clarke. _I wasn't doing a good job balancing all three.

I returned my attention to her after resurfacing from my thoughts. "You don't" I struggled because of her beryl eyes. She should have animosity in her eyes not a craving that I didn't understand. "You don't have to say you're sorry."

"I'm not." She told me through narrowed eyes and tight lips, "I'm not _sorry_ I hit you. You're an ass and deserved it. I'm apologizing because we need to move forward as a union. I can't run this camp without you and you've failed to run this camp without me before."

The image of torches and Charlotte touched my mind as I listened to her speak. "So you trust me again?" Clarke liked fighting with me. I liked fighting with Clarke. If that made us screwed up individuals, then so be it. Her blonde hair swept down her back in a tight braid fashioned by my sister—I recognized the technique—and her exposed skin was beckoning me to move forward. The blush across her cleavage that extended up her neck because of my stare made me smirk softly at her.

"Never." Her eyebrows furrowed, "But I trust myself enough to know that you're an asset I can't cast away because you're opinionated and ignorant. I trust myself…" She repeated as she looked at me. Her eyes shifted back to the camp members, some were watching us—some weren't. I would take her right in front of them if she allowed me to, but Clarke wasn't that type of girl. Personal displays of affection seemed like a bad thing to force her into.

"I wouldn't say ignorant..." My voice was leading but she did not follow him.

"You accused the people that make this camp thrive of selfishness and belittled them in their safe haven. If ignorant isn't the word for you, I suggest stupid." She rolled her eyes, "That's all I have to say."

"Is it all you wanted to say?" Her lips trembled as I stepped forward and parted when I extended a hand out towards her. I did not touch her—I would not touch her in front of the prying eyes.

"You're—you can't do that—this." She put a hand in her hair, "Don't ever do that again."

"I don't take orders from you, Princess."

**Clarke:**

Bellamy was a son of a—no. I was not going to bring his mother into this. He was a jackass—an insufferable jackass and I really shouldn't be _thinking _about him. I should be planning another trip to check out the bunkers. I should be compiling supplies and making sure my affairs were in order before departing. Affairs…was I having an affair with Bellamy Blake unknowingly but oh-so-easily? He was alluring and intentionally pulling me into his _trap. _

One day he was on, the next he was off, then he was on again. He was giving me a euphoric version of whiplash. I felt like everything I did was only pushing me towards a cliff where I would certainly plummet and die. My lips quivered as I stood in the middle of the drop ship, my fingers attempting to stop the shaking. I could tell he wanted me—I could tell my lips wanted to feel his hard against them. I wanted to approach him, take his face between my palms and bring them tightly against mine. "Clarke, what the hell are you doing?"

I frowned, turning around to see Octavia behind me. "Thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing particular." I cleared my throat and busied my hands until I couldn't take the tension anymore. I felt a pull on my chest that told me I needed to get air. If my face wasn't being hit by the wind, I couldn't breathe properly and if I wasn't getting the right amount of oxygen to my brain I was surely going to make a rash decision to _give into _his charming antics when I knew he wouldn't feel the same tomorrow. Octavia's head extended upwards at me and I let out painful words, "I need some air."

I hated being confused—I hated the fact that Bellamy confused me. I tried to look at the facts. We kissed. I caught him with someone else. We share a friendly moment over bullets—slight flirting involved. Then, he turns into an ass. Next, he becomes that _Bellamy—_the hot, rebel Bellamy that hates me…and now? Now he's trying to make a move on me, undressing me with his eyes and making implications of _want. _How am I supposed to follow that?

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